


A Hero's Death

by cracklesnaple



Series: mcyt shorts [7]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Blood, Child Abuse, Death, Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dissociation, Eating Disorders, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Killing, Kinda, Lonely TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Victim Blaming, Violence, god those tags hurt, the comfort is very minimal though, tommy blames himself for a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29788653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cracklesnaple/pseuds/cracklesnaple
Summary: Tommy doesn't think this is what Techno meant all those weeks ago. Surely, dying to the hands of your abuser isn't a hero's death but what does he know?
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, if shippers even look at this I will eat your elbows
Series: mcyt shorts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094585
Comments: 10
Kudos: 276





	A Hero's Death

**Author's Note:**

> God that stream hurt so badly and I had to speedrun a fic. I was literally in class when the stream was happening and I could not tell you a word of what my teacher said during the entire thing. Anyways, read the tags and remember that this is based off the character's they portray on the dsmp not the actual people. This is all based on a roleplay! Enjoy! <3

Was this a hero’s death? Tommy wonders this while pain blooms in violent bursts across his body. Chest, stomach, face, legs, shoulder, no bit of him is spared from the brutality Dream possesses. From days of being locked in a cell with his ~~friend~~ abuser, manipulator, refusing to eat the potatoes thrown his way and not being able to walk around the tiny room, Tommy has lost all of his previous growth from exile. Sam had been helping him get better at eating regular meals, no longer did his stomach cry out after just a couple bites of broth, and he was finally able to go out and collect wood by himself, arms strong enough to hold onto the axe. Now, all that progress has gone down the drain.

Tommy doesn’t have the energy to move, to fight back. His skin stretches thin across his bones and bruises bloom easily. The oldest ones, from his first night in the cell, are an inky mix of purples and yellows that settle nastily against his too-pale skin. The newest ones, being beaten into him now, are blooming with blues and browns and greens. Blood trickles out of the worst wounds, from his broken nose, from his split lip, from the deep scratches caused by Dream’s fingernails.

Black spots dance across his vision, enticing him to finally, finally give in to the demand of death. It’s a familiar feeling, one he remembers intimately from the early days of exile when he stared into the comforting depth of the lava lakes or when he was so high up he could feel the wind in his soul and the way it hugged him as he fell. He remembers a time when he vowed to himself he wouldn’t let Dream take his last death, that he would do it with his own hands. Tommy guesses even that has been taken from him now.

“I won't revive you,” Dream is saying in between panting breaths. Blond hair frizzes, curls around his head. The Warden had forced Dream to give up his iconic mask so there’s nothing preventing Tommy from latching onto toxic green eyes as he slowly dies. His mind feels hazy, the pain is somewhere that he can’t quite reach and he doesn’t know what’s happening but he’s grateful for it.

He remembers only minutes ago when Sam had come to the other side of the lava and told him to be _strong_ , to trust the man as if it wasn’t partly his fault that Tommy is now being beaten to death. Tommy had cried, had pleaded _so hard_ trying to get out of this cell, this claustrophobic cage. He had watched lava drip and a nasty smirk on Dream’s lips as Sam told Tommy that it would be his fault if anything went awry trying to get himself out.

Tommy supposes he deserves it though, this whole affair. Who is he to think he would be granted closure? To assume the world would be kind enough to let him close this horrific chapter of his life and move on, move past the heavy weight of trauma that holds tight to his shoulders. Maybe it was always supposed to be like that, the boy - for that is what he is - thinks as no one comes to rescue him from getting his third life taken by the man who has abused him for the better half of a year, manipulating him for longer.

Perhaps this is for the best. Tommy never was the important one. That was Tubbo, Wilbur, Technoblade, anyone else but never him. Isn’t that Dream told him over and over again before gunpowder was thick in the air for the third time, a tent and a camp ruined forever? That no one cared for him then and no one cares for him now. If they did, Sam wouldn’t have left him not once, but _twice_ at the mercy of Dream, Jack and Niki wouldn’t be trying to kill him, Phil and Techno wouldn’t despise even the thought of him. For all he knows, they all could’ve been in on this plan from the start. It wouldn’t surprise him anymore.

“You’re useless, pathetic, annoying,” each adjective is punctuated with a vicious punch, lash, scratch. Sometimes Tommy feels the searing pain of shards of glass sliding across his skin from Dream’s broken clock, the thing that the man had thrown at him initially to get him to stop talking. “You make everything about yourself. You think you have such a hard life. I’ve been stuck in this cell for months! Months! But all you care about is yourself! You’re selfish, Tommy! You’re the worst type of person and everyone hates you for it.”

He agrees with everything Dream is saying, it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before and certainly isn’t untrue. A bloody smile stretches across his lips, teeth stained red from the blood and the small action aches, pulls at the wounds across his face but he can’t stop it. At least he’ll be able to rest when he’s dead, he hopes.

There’s a punch thrown towards his chest, right above his heart and Tommy feels his heart stutter, stop, and, then, still. His body lies, newly dead with no fizzle of respawn as his code breaks apart, zeroes and ones ripping apart until he’s nothing. The man above him has yet to notice how his body stills, falls limp against the attacks. TommyInnit dies in a cell, alone at the hands of his abuser and can only hope for a better afterlife. Or none at all.

_TommyInnit was slain by Dream._

He wakes up an unknown amount of time later, chest heaving, gasping for breath. Tommy is surrounded by a soft white, reminding him of a vague memory; of light blue skies, wavy brown hair, and large smiles. As he struggles to his feet, legs feeling more shaky than he thinks they ought to, Tommy tries to remember what happened before he woke up. The memories are hazy, they coat the tip of his tongue. So close, yet so far away and they’re impossible to hold onto for any amount of time.

There is something though, something in the everlasting white, that Tommy hasn’t experienced in a very long time. He felt as if he was at peace. He’s comfortable, maybe even in the early stages of happiness. There are no aches to his movements or an unbearable weight to his shoulders - though Tommy can’t imagine why he would experience those things anyways.

“Tommy?” a soft, familiar voice whispers into the void and Tommy whips around, face lighting up when he sees who it is. Wilbur, his older brother, his light and joy before the dreaded election. Though the memory slips away from him right after the thought, he looks exactly like Ghostbur did before the ghost disappeared after the disc war concluded. Wilbur is in a soft yellow sweater, too big on his lanky body, and faded brown trousers. The only difference between this Wilbur and Ghostbur is the recognition on the man’s face, his voice that is no longer airy and innocent.

Tears slip past his eyes but Tommy ignores them, can barely feel them as he stares at his brother. Tommy didn’t realize how alone he’d felt before this moment. That day on the bench after Tubbo almost died was the last time he spoke to Wilbur, the real Wilbur, and he barely spoke after that. Tubbo was always busy in Snowchester, as was Jack, Ranboo stuck close to Techno and Phil - Tommy wasn’t willing to brave his old family to see his friend - so they rarely saw each other, and Sam tended to throw himself into whatever new project he was working on. He never minded it, not really. They all had something else to occupy their time, they had no need for the annoying gremlin child to get in his way so he kept to himself. He would tend his little carrot farm, watch the sunset on the bench and occasionally get materials for the hotel.

Tommy doesn’t know where these memories are coming from but they’re so, so painful and he doesn’t want them. He doesn’t even register the arms that settle around his shoulders until he’s being pressed up against a warm chest. Wilbur’s melodic voice shushes his cries, long fingers run through his hair in a way that’s distinctly different from when Dream would yank it if he was being bad.

After that, it’s like a dam bursts open and he’s sobbing, weeping. It’s ugly, the furthest thing from pretty, as snot bubbles and patches of red color his face but he doesn’t care. All he knows, all he focuses on, is the feeling of Wilbur’s sweater pressed against his face, of his brother’s warmth wrapped around him. It’s been ages since he was held, since he was close to someone who didn’t have ulterior motives, and it feels so refreshing that another round of tears escape.

“Shh, Toms,” Wilbur whispers, his head rests on the top of his own. It’s not a warning to stop crying, to stop being weak, merely a reminder that Tommy has his brother again, that he’s no longer alone. “I’m here,” he continues, “You’re okay now. Let it out.”

And, in his brother's arms, maybe Tommy can finally find peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed and that I at least made you a little sad! I was so close to crying during my class ngl. The stream was so painful. In other news, I am working on another long fic as well as multiple small continuations to my other works but school and mental health have been hell so it's been a slow process. 
> 
> Love you all so much! <3 Stay safe everyone and remember, if no one else does, I love you! <333
> 
> [My twitter](https://twitter.com/cracklesnapple1)


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